Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.
At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.
Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
And ruin`d love when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.